


Set Me Free

by Applefall



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, M/M, Mental Instability, Sexual Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-12
Packaged: 2018-03-28 22:38:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3872365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Applefall/pseuds/Applefall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A strange man shows up on Pete's doorstep one night, begging and pleading. It's clear that the abuse on his skin extends further than Pete can see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really hesitant to post this but I had this in mind and while this hasnt happened to me certain aspects certainly hit very close to home. I'm not sure how much more Ill write of this, it depends entirely on the reception of you guys and how I feel. Please read the tags.

Pete had just begun boiling water to make his pasta when there was a knock at his door. Groaning, he made his way to the front door, and, without bothering to check who it was, opened the door.

There was no one visible for the first moment, before there was a weak cry at his feet. Pete looks down and spots a young man, stark pale and strawberry hair. His face is dirty and he looks absolutely pitiful.

"Please help." The man pleads, tears clearing a path through the grime on his face. Underneath the dirt there's a bruise on his face and he clutches his side, wheezing as he speaks. "Please I d-don't, if he finds me... I-I'm dead!" The man cries, curling in on himself.

Pete stares, shocked. It's not like weak, injured men appear on his doorstep daily. Leaning over, he goes to pick the man up, but once he put his arms under his, his head lists to the side and his eyes close. He just... passed out. Pete's eyes widen and he lifts him up, being careful with him. It was obvious he was in a lot of pain, and quite possibly in danger.

Not without difficulty, Pete shuts the door and drags the man to his bedroom, laying him down. He strips off his cardigan and lays it on the bed, wincing as he views it. It's absolutely in tatters. Now that he can see his shirt, he gasps. There's a deep cut on his side and his hands are stained with blood. "Oh my god," Pete whispers, examining the damage. There's multiple cuts across his body and bruises on his face, as well as on the skin Pete can see.

Who could have done his to him? The man couldn't be older than twenty, with a face like angel. A dirty, fallen angel, albeit, but an angel nonetheless. Pete leaves and heads to the bathroom, searching his medicine cabinet blindly. Bandages. He needs bandages, a wet rag, disinfectant, and pain medication. He gathers those items, surprised he had them all, and makes his way back to the bedroom.

The man is stirring, arms flailing and a weak shout making its way out of throat. Pete's chest tightens. What could have done this to him? "S-stop!" The man cries, tossing his head back and forth before open his eyes. The blue-green are watery, but wide and wild. When Pete approaches the bed, the man wails. "P-please!"

Pete stills. The pure anguish on his face is overwhelming him and he wants to bolt out of the room, but he doesn't. He can't. "Shh. I won't hurt you. I'm Pete." He whispers to the man, whose shaking. Pete can see the wound on his side begin to bleed again, and he knows that if he doesn't get it bandaged the man is going to bleed out. "I want to help you. You're bleeding. Badly."

The man shakes and cries for what seems like years, before calming himself enough to allow Pete to approach. But when Pete reaches out to pat his shoulder, he flinches violently and it sets him off again. 

"Please, I promise I won't hurt you. You're going to bleed out if I don't help you." Pete tells him slowly, as calmly as he can. The man shakes his head and hugs himself, moaning.

"Let me die, just let me die." The man moans. Pete's taken aback. "Please." But despite the man's wishes, he's not letting him die. The man looks far too young. Pete knows how it is, he's wanted to die many times before. And he almost did. It was only in the seconds before he passed out that he realized he had made a huge mistake.

He doesn't want that happening to anyone else, even though he still feels that way.

"No, you're not dying. Whatever this is, it's going to be fine." Pete assures him, grabbing the rag. "I just need to clean the wound." The man sobs and lays back, blood trickling steadily. Pete winces when he sees it. His bed is going to be filthy. "It's okay. What's your name?" Pete asks to distract him. "I'm gonna lift your shirt up, okay?"

The man's sobs have decreased reasonably and he nods, tears on his face. "I'm no one." He mutters, flinching when Pete lifts his shirt to his chest gently. The wound is on his side and the shirt doesn't need t come off all the way. Pete has a feeling the man would feel more comfortable with it on, anyways.

It's not as deep as Pete thought, but it's long. Pete gasps when he sees bruises and other discolorations on his body, even small burns, just the right size for a cigarette end. It angers Pete, and he has to take a deep breath to calm down. Someone, some person, had the heart to do this to this small, fragile-looking man. It makes him sick to his stomach that people like that exist.

"You're not no one. You have to have a name." Pete tells him, grabbing the rag and wiping up the blood. The man shrugs and coughs, body shaking with the intensity of it. "The disinfectant is going to sting." Pete warns, grabbing the bottle.

The man shrugs again. "I don't care." He sniffs. Pete's just glad he's stopped sobbing. He's still shaking, and he's tense where Pete touches him, but he's stopped sobbing. Pete pours the disinfectant onto the wound, slowly. The man's back arches in pain and he groans, tears leaking out of the corner of those sea colored eyes.

Eventually Pete gets him to sit up and wraps the bandage around his body gently, being careful not to touch him for long. The man is tired now, nearly falling limp in Pete's arms after Pete checks his torso for other cuts. He sees a few and uses regular bandages to fix them up, and looks at the bruises and burns worriedly before lifting off the bed to search for a shirt and pajama pants. He leaves him with a clean rag and tells him to wipe his face, to clear the dirt and grime there.

The man is not thin. He's chubby and extra flesh spills out from above his skinny jeans. It's a great look for him, but it also means his own pajama pants might not fit him. He searches for old ones, ones some girl bought him. They're bigger than him because she didn't know his size, but they look just right for the man. 

Next he searches for a shirt. He digs out an old University shirt, grabbing the two and placing them on the bed. "Here's some clothes." Pete tells him, watching as he looks up at him with tired, but scared, eyes. "I can wash your shirt and jeans, but your cardigan is ruined. Get changed." He finishes gently.

The man nods and averts his gaze, and it's then that Pete realizes he hadn't even been looking straight at him, rather, a spot behind him. The man squirms under his gaze and grabs his clothes, ducking his head. "Okay." He says in the smallest voice Pete's ever heard. 

Pete nods and lets himself really look over the man. Now that his face is clean, Pete can really see how young he is. He has soft cheeks, round and pink. His lips are even pinker, and plump as well. His eyes are somewhere between the color green and blue, Pete can't decide which. The man is quite beautiful, he finds himself thinking.

Pete straightens and clears his throat. "Right. Tell me when you're finished." Pete leaves with that, heart heavy on his chest. He reclines on the living room couch and starts dozing while waiting for the man. He had nearly forgotten about the pasta before it hit him, running to turn off the stove. He didn't want the house burning down with another person that wasn't him in it. It takes the man twenty minutes to come out, looking small in the clothes. 

"Um." The man clears his throat and instantly looks away when Pete looks up, snapping out of his daze. Pete gestures for him to sit and he does, looking stuff and uncomfortable. "I should go." He says, looking panicky just at the thought. A tremble starts back up in him, and even from the other end of the couch Pete can hear his breath quickening.

Pete shakes his head. He's got a spare room. "I've got a spare room." Pete voices his thoughts, watching the man fiddle with the hem of the shirt. "You can stay as long as you need. All I ask is your name." Pete tells him, stretching and leaning forward. 

The man shakes and looks at him with scared and confused eyes. "Why would you let me stay?" He asks, clearly confused. "You don't know me." 

Pete softens. "No. I don't. But I still care, okay?" The man still looks confused, which, in turn, makes Pete confused. 

"I don't- I don't get it." He whispers, looking stricken. "Why would you care?" The way he asks it makes Pete's heart flutter unevenly. It's all confusing Pete and he swallows the lump rising in his throat. Clearly the man has been living with some terrible people. 

"I just do." Pete answers him, shrugging and watching as he continues to look confused. "Now, what's your name?" The man fiddles with the hem of his shirt some more before looking up at him with watery eyes.

"It's... P-Patrick." He admits, a tear leaking out of the corner of his eye. "But He called me 'idiot' or 'useless.'" The man, Patrick, supplies bitterly. Pete bites his lip and takes a deep breath, intense concern for the man he just met and intense anger for the person who called Patrick those things. Patrick looks up and brushes the tears away, sighing. "I'm sorry."

Pete stands and motions for him to as well. "There's no need to be sorry, Patrick." Pete says softly, gesturing for him to follow. He leads him to the guest bedroom, flicking on the light. "You can stay here. You'll be okay." 

Patrick nods shyly and sits on the bed, not without hesitation. He grabs a pillow and looks at Pete, a question in his eyes. "Can I...?" He asks timidly, clutching the pillow. The fact that he asks Pete to lie down hurts Pete. He can't believe everything he's seeing.

"There's a bathroom too, if you want to wash up." Pete says, making a general motion towards it. You can take a bath or shower, don't hesitate to use anything." Patrick nods and lays back, looking tense. It's like he's never slept on a bed before, Pete thinks.   
"I'll be in the living room. Just tell me if you need anything. Anything." Pete leaves him then, closing the door quietly and heading back to the living room.

There he wonders who he just took into his home and what happened to him that made him so fearful of people. Though he so calmly handled Patrick and calming him down considerably, there's a rising bubble of worry and concern bubbling up inside him and he's knows it's going to burst. Pete just sits there and listens to his shower run for a while before stopping, then turns on his TV and tries to distract himself for a while. But his mind turns to Patrick almost instantly again. He needs to know what happened to him and why.

With a sinking feeling, Pete feels he can guess.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for reposting this if you saw it; ir was being wierd for me and I wasn't sure if it was visible.
> 
> Update: edited the chapter. I wrote this late last night, so it was full of errors.

Pete's flipping pancakes when Patrick enters the room, his strawberry blond hair a mess and his eyes sleepy, but nervous. Pete flips the pancakes onto a paper plate and then looks to Patrick, whose standing in the doorway and fiddling with the hem of his shirt. Pete's tired, exhausted from a night's sleep on his couch, but he softens when he sees Patrick. It's been less than twelve hours since Patrick showed up on his doorstep, but he looks like he belongs. It makes his heart soar and he smiles at him. Patrick's lips twitch slightly and he ducks his head when his eyes scrunch up. It's adorable, but he can hardly see when his face is down. Pete swallows and wonders if it's a side-effect of what he's been through. Made to feel bad for even smiling.

Patrick steps forward hesitantly, looking back up. The nervousness in his eyes is still there but it's not as noticeable as it was when he first entered the room. "Good morning." Pete tells him and grabs another paper plate, turning and placing a pancake on it. He turns again and offers the plate up. "Pancakes?" He asks Patrick, who nods. He gestures to the chair and turns back to the stove to pour more batter, whistling softly. Pete glances over his shoulder and spots Patrick hovering near the chair, biting his lip.

"Can- can I sit?" Patrick asks softly, averting his gaze. He drops his hand onto the back of the chair and looks up at Pete once more, looking hopeful. Pete sighs, but that seems to be the wrong thing to do because Patrick draws back like he's been burned and trembles. "I'm, I'm sorry. I didn't-" Patrick starts, voice wavering. Pete instantly feels terrible. He hadn't meant to sigh, or make Patrick feel bad. That was the last thing he ever wanted to do.

Pete steps forward and raises his hands to show Patrick he won't touch him. "Patrick, no, I'm just- please sit, okay?" Patrick looks at him with watery eyes and nods, rubbing his face. He steps forward and sits down, looking down at the placemat. Pete bites his lip but turns back to the stove, flipping the pancake. He grabs the plate and walks over to the table, setting it down in front of him and heading to the fridge. He grabs the tub of butter and then grabs the syrup from the pantry, placing the two next to his plate. Patrick looks up at him with the smallest of smiles and swallows. Pete grabs a fork and hands it to him, watching him cut the pancake into pieces before turning back to the stove.

"Thank you." Patrick says softly from behind him. "I-I haven't had a meal like this in years." Patrick admits, sounding timid. Pete flips the pancake onto the plate and whirls around, eyes wide. He can't believe what Patrick's said, and his heart breaks a little. Patrick says no more, just takes a bite of the pancake. When he swallows, he smiles. "This is amazing, Pete." Patrick compliments, eyes soft.

Pete grabs his own plate and fork and heads to the table, placing down his plate and sitting next to Patrick. "Thanks. Twenty-four years old and I've finally learned to make pancakes." Pete jokes, pouring syrup and taking a bite. Patrick lets out a soft chuckle. It's weak, but it makes Pete's heart soar. "How old are you?" Pete asks conversationally, reaching for more syrup.

"I'm nineteen." Patrick tells him, taking another bite. This freezes Pete, makes him close his eyes and swallow. Nineteen years old. The boy sitting at his table isn't even twenty yet and he's suffered more than anything. Pete wonders who could be terrible enough to hurt him. Patrick's small, thin and frail. Pete has a sneaking suspicion he wasn't always very thin, because when he had cleaned up his cuts and wound he had spotted stretch marks, little lightening bolts crashing across his skin. He's too young for whatever he's gone through.

Pete clears his throat. "School?" He asks, keeping his eyes on Patrick, whose looking down at his plate. He cuts carefully and precisely, though his hand has a slight tremor and it looks like he's concentrating hard. His eyes flutter upwards to him and he shakes his head, sadness filling his riptide eyes.

"I dropped out." Patrick says quietly, taking a bite and looking back down. He's tense now, shoulders stiff and hand still. "But I was majoring in composition." Pete's lips twitch into a slight smile. He can imagine him as a geeky little music major, strolling across the uni grounds, a smile on his face. "I play guitar, bass, piano, trumpet, drums, among other things. And I sing a little." Patrick says, counting off on his fingers. Pete's jaw drops. He's amazed.

Pete swallows down a bite of pancake and breaks out into a smile. "Dude! That's awesome! I play bass too, but I can't sing for shit!" Pete exclaims loudly, grinning. But Patrick flinches and begins trembling. His breathing quickens and he hugs himself, closing his eyes. Pete sucks in a breath, watching as a tear leaks out of Patrick's eye. "No, no, no, I'm sorry, I didn't-" Pete begins, stammering out apologies as he watches Patrick panic and shrink into himself. "I shouldn't have yelled, I'm sorry." He can only imagine the yelling that had been directed to him in the past.

Patrick trembles for a few minutes before calming himself, slowly settling. Eventually he opens his ocean eyes and there's nervousness and sadness in them. "I"m sorry, I'm stupid, I know..." The younger boy whispers, wiping away his tears quickly. "I just-"

"No, it's okay. I'm the one who should be sorry. Are you alright?" Pete asks gently, mentally cursing himself. He's so stupid, he should have been more careful with him. Pete can even imagine how fragile his mental state is. A wrong move and it'll collapse. Patrick nods slowly and takes a deep breath, inhaling and exhaling in a pattern. Pete finishes his pancakes and stands, grabbing his plate and reaching over slowly to take Patrick's. The pale boy watches him closely as he does so, holding his breath as his hand nears him. Pete grabs his plate and throws the two in the garbage, setting the forks in the sink. After that he grabs a bag and places the extra pancakes in it, putting the bag into the fridge for later.

Pete turns back to Patrick, whose still watching him. "Um, want to go play a videogame or something?" Pete asks awkwardly. He's not had a house guest in some time, especially not a house guest who could potentially break down at any given moment. To his relief, Patrick nods and stands, hovering until Pete gestures him to follow. He leads him to his living room. "What do you want to play?"

Patrick looks at the couch and asks timidly, "Can I sit?" Pete nods vigorously and he does so, though he looks stiff and unsettled. "Um, do you have MarioKart? I used to play it all the time." Patrick suggests, hope glimmering in his eyes. Pete nods again and grabs the game off the shelf, popping into the Wii and turning the TV on. He hands a remote to Patrick, who takes it tentatively and sits back, looking as though he's trying to relax. Pete desperately wants to ask him why he's like this, and who broke him so badly that he can't even sit on a couch without having to ask. The bubble in him turns into a storm, raging and angry at whoever did so. He has to know, but he's not going to pressure Patrick into telling him. Not at all. Patrick will tell him when he's ready.

Pete sits next to him, giving him plenty of space, and starts up the game. "Pete?" Patrick asks quietly, making Pete turn. "H-how long can I stay here?" Patrick bites his lip, looking terrified again. Pete wants to hug him, tell him it's okay. That nothing will harm him as long as he's here. Pete doesn't have to think much about his answer.

"You can stay here as long as you want. Don't worry about money or anything." Pete tells him reassuringly. Patrick visibly relaxes and his eyes mist up. It nearly makes his own eyes tear up, but he composes himself.

"You've been so nice to me, Pete. You don't even know me." Patrick says in a tone that suggests awe and gratitude. Pete gives him a smile that widens when Patrick returns it. It's his first real smile and it's beautiful. He has straight, white teeth in neat rows, his pink lips curling up. His eyes scrunch up and his forehead wrinkles slightly, his hair falls into his face. But Pete only sees it for a moment before Patrick's looking down at his lap. He's still smiling, but he's turned away from Pete.

"Why do you hide your face? When you smile, I mean." Pete blurts without thinking. Patrick startles, but looks up at him. The smile fades quickly and Pete instantly regrets it and curses himself. _Stupid, stupid, stupid! Can't do anything right!_ He yells at himself, digging his nails into his palm.

Patrick rubs his face and then runs a hand through his bed head. "I-I just... I can't-Pete, I can't..." His voice sounds so broken and hopeless that Pete wants to cry. He hates that he made him sound so broken.

"Hey no, just, you don't have to..." Pete tries to save himself and Patrick. Patrick takes a deep breath and just turns to the TV. His shoulders are tenser, but Pete supposes he can't do anything about that at the moment.

They start playing, silent. It's not until Patrick beats Pete that he speaks again, this time, his tone light. "You suck!" He teases, though he sounds a little strained, like he's trying hard to sound normal. Pete sticks his tongue out and whines about wanting a rematch. A smile dances across his lips and he nods.

The two play for a while, nearly two hours. Patrick beats Pete almost every time and by the end of it, Pete's groaning. "Dude, either you're really good or I suck." Pete tells him, watching as Patrick throws his head back and full on laughs. He watches in awe as his body shakes with the laugh. It's beautiful to see him laugh and Pete can only hope he'll see it many more times in the near future.

"I think you suck." Patrick says, sounding much lighter and happier. There's still the hidden undertones of darkness and sadness, but it's a start. It's something.

Pete watches him for a few moments before Patrick turns away. "Thank you, Pete." He says on a soft tone. He's looking much more relaxed now and Pete is relieved that he's found something that helps him out, even if it's only a small help.

"What do you want for lunch?" Pete asks about an hour of playing later. Patrick turns to him and shrugs. "How about some chicken nuggets? I can make chicken nuggets. Maybe macaroni too." Pete suggests, feeling a little like a kid. But Patrick just laughs lightly and nods.

"That's sounds... Great." Patrick affirms and tugs on the hem of his shirt. Pete notices and looks down at himself. They're both still in pajamas and Pete feels as if he should maybe change that.

"Hey, Patrick, do you maybe want to go shopping tomorrow?" Pete asks, holding his breath. Patrick's face shifts into nervousness. "Don't worry about money or anything. Don't worry about anything." Pete says as he noticed his shift in mood.

Patrick shrugs and nods slowly after a few minutes of thinking. "Okay." Pete gives him a reassuring smile and reaches out to pat his shoulder. He flinches away and turns his head, eyes closed.

Pete's heart sinks slightly, but he draws his hand back and attempts a smile. It's going to take time, he tells himself. A lot of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are highly appreciated. Thank you.


End file.
